Ride
by Heather Giesbrecht
Summary: It was absurd, how could Thomas have never ridden in a motorcar before ? Alan/Thomas. Complete.


**Ride**

Alan had just switched off his motorcar when a familiar English voice called, "Alan, I say, Alan is that you ?" A brief grin spread across his face before he schooled himself and got out of the motorcar. He closed the door, took a breath to control the fluttering in his stomach, then turned to look at Thomas. The black haired man wore a dark blue suit and top hat that matched his eyes nicely; also, Thomas was carrying a polished light-wood box under one arm.

He found himself glancing about then embraced the damnably dashing baronet. "Who else would I possibly be pray tell me such, Sir Thomas ?" It had taken a year of friendship before Thomas had let himself be touched without prior permission.

Thomas patted his shoulder blade and responded with a chuckle, "A bloody scoundrel impersonating a good mate of mine that's what."

Alan moved back shaking his head in disbelief, "I didn't expect you to arrive until sometime next week. Is Lucille here too ?"

"I take it that I should not surprise the only mate I have then ? Of course Lucille is here as well. She is resting in her hotel room at the moment."

Well, that was one good thing she couldn't interrupt them at the most...inopportune...time for the fifteenth time in two years then. "Hold your thoroughbreds, I didn't say that you couldn't surprise me."

Flat toned and utterly stoic Thomas's, "Surprise." had him bursting into laughter, why exactly he didn't know. It was, however, likely something to do with Thomas's link to pleasure in his brain.

Thomas walked around him to put a hand on the pearlescent motorcar's rightmost hood flap. "I've never seen an automobile like this before wherever did you get it ?"

"Oh I wanted something a bit more unique than what everyone else could buy. It cost me a fortune to get built." Nearly he bit his lip in regret, he knew Thomas was nearly broke and yet here he was blathering like an uncaring fool about how much money he had to waste on self-aggrandizing luxuries.

Quite thankfully Thomas didn't seem to mind. "At least unlike my father you spent it on something truly useful." It was the sardonic tone in which Thomas said it that had him wondering about that which Thomas was always vague about...his childhood.

Rather than bring it up he instead wondered, "What does Thomas the inventor think of my contraption ?" Some men walked past them with terse greetings and into the dark brown building.

A brief humming as Thomas walked once around the motorcar before saying, "Truly, I don't know. Can you believe that I have never set foot in one of these things ?"

Utterly flummoxed Alan's eyebrows furrowed and he straightened a cuff link in an attempt to hide his confusion. It was absurd, how could so charming a man as Sir Thomas Sharpe have never ridden in a motorcar before ? "Never ? Was it too expensive ?"

"That, and I would much rather not have to worry about something breaking down and not have the parts to fix it."

Sunlight gleamed off the motorcar's windshield into his eyes as he leaned to pick up his pile of books, reports and papers. "Perhaps after our respective meetings I might take you for your first ride ? I'm meeting with my lawyer, Mr. Hopkins, to make sure three-fold that my building permits and everything are in order. With whom are you meeting, Thomas ?"

Some moments passed as Thomas laid his box on the motorcar's back half, thinking for a moment. "I was fortunate enough to get a meeting with Mr. Carter Cushing. I came here early because I wanted to make sure that my prototype was still working."

While he wondered, "Still working ? What happened to it ?" he briefly took out his pocket watch to check the time. Disappointingly he would have to take his leave of Thomas after this.

"I dropped it whilst trying to escape being driven over by a drunken cabby. You know what Alan ? The bleeding cad couldn't even spare a halfhearted apology. Oh no, he just drove off like he hadn't tried to murder me however unintentionally it was."

He put his pocket watch away, then sighed, "I am glad your still alive and I hope it still works, but I really should be heading off now. Thomas you must make absolutely sure that you are not late to your meeting, Mr. Cushing hates people who waste his time."

Thomas nodded curtly, "Thank you, I'll make sure that I'm not. Good luck with your meeting, Dr. McMichael."

"You as well, Sir Thomas, and you'll meet me here afterward ? I could take you to see my new office then."

"I should like that very much I think. Now, go on, I can't meet you here if you don't leave first."

With a faint chuckle of his own he moved off. After a brief meeting with Mr. Cushing's daughter, Edith, whom'd been his childhood friend, he came in very good time to Mr. Hopkins's office. All throughout his meeting he kept wondering if he should have told Thomas about Mr. Cushing's distaste for the aristocracy, that he would most likely be looked down upon for his title. Eventually, he was released from the hold of Mr. Hopkins with all assurances that his office was his to do with as he pleased.

His having to wait for Thomas's return was rather more nerve-wracking than if he'd actually been in Thomas's meeting with him. One thing he knew for sure was that Mr. Cushing was a very hard man to impress, yet surely Thomas could sway the red-haired man if only for a few minutes. People strolled past him into and out of the building in a never ending river. Quite a while later and rather suddenly the crowd parted like salmon trying to escape a bear revealing Thomas stalking toward him. Even from where he sat he could feel the man's quiet fury. It would probably be best to drive around for sometime before returning here.

The ten years older man wrenched the passenger side door open and slid in, set his box down, and closed the door with a thunk. Wordlessly, he started the motorcar, it rumbled to life startling Thomas who looked about in confusion before laughing mockingly at himself. Silence reigned for a while as he drove behind an irksome cabby who stopped and started every few feet.

Nearly they had returned to his office when Thomas spoke, "I had them, Alan, I had them all, except for Cushing himself. As soon as they saw he wasn't impressed they turned on me like starved wolves. He mocked me, no, he bloody fucking humiliated me in front of them ! Is it my fault that I was born to rule a baronetcy ? He acted as if I had not worked nearly so hard as he himself did to get where I am now. I may be Baronet of Harding Poole, but I had to build near everything myself with very little help from others since I had not the monies to hire many workers. To make things even more humiliating he just snatched my hands up as if I were something for his amusement. Soft hands, my bollocks. That man, Alan, that man ! Sheep tit sucking bastard that he is, self-aggrandizing hypocritical wanker."

It was far from proprietary to laugh, but he couldn't help it Thomas's last sentence was hilarious. "Unlike Mr. Cushing I happen to have a fine appreciation of those hands. I am sorry Thomas it is entirely my fault, I should have warned you of his tendencies hypocritical or otherwise."

Thomas removed his top hat and leaned his neck back against the red velvet seat. "Mm, this does feel wondrous, rather smoother too than a carriage." Lazily, Thomas opened his eyes, "Tell me that your meeting went well even if you must lie to do it."

Finally, he decided to just drive around the cabby. He answered, "There's no need for that, I am quite pleased to say that my office is my own. I've had quite a few patients seen to already, I think I'm doing rather well in that regard being so new to it." whilst he pulled into the spot that he had previously occupied.

His office was situated in the second floor of Mr. Cushing's building. As he'd had his meeting he had made sure the office was only open this afternoon which was also when Edith would be coming to see it. After he and Thomas had collected their things they made their way up. The office itself was beige walled and lined with dark oak shelves full of the books he'd accumulated both for his studies and mere pleasure reading.

When he'd set his folders down on the long table in the room's middle he asked, "Did you want some tea I brought a canister of black with me when I returned."

Thomas sat down, a hesitant look crossing the pale skinned face. "It can't be so terrible if you make it after what I just endured."

Half-surprised that Thomas had such faith in him, he moved into the side room where the french press and tea kettle sat on the stove. Rather nervously when the water was ready did he make the tea wondering if he had put the leaves in the way that Thomas liked. He returned to the main room to see that Thomas had pulled out a book on ghosts and other occult phenomena. Truthfully, that was how he had met the man - in a London library looking up information on ghosts that he wanted to tell Edith about when he returned. The Englishman had recommended quite a few books to him and Thomas's strong belief had guided him to the man who'd sold him the ghost slides.

Gingerly, he set the tray of filled cups on the table. It was probably only aristocratic poise that made Thomas swallow the sips that he took because he visibly blanched. A brief cough stifled in a sapphire handkerchief then, "I, huh, I never thought I would say that tea made by an American would be too strong, yet here I am. How long did you let the leaves boil before removing them ?"

"I think it was...thirty-five minutes or some such." Embarrassed, he walked around to Thomas's side then took a sip of his own cup. Unsurprisingly, the overwhelming bitterness choked him before he swallowed it. His eyes watered as the older man rubbed circles in his back, "Well, I suppose I deserve it really for trying to serve tea to an Englishman, don't you ?"

"It's not the awfullest tea that I've ever had. It is far better than when Lucille was sick and I tried to make tea. Good God, now that was some terrible tea. It was burnt as anything, not even a taste bud less dog could have drunk that rubbish."

Wisely, they chose to ignore the rest of the pot. Instead they replaced the taste with something that was far more work, not nearly so bitter and actually worth the effort. Two hours later, he was bidding Thomas good bye at the hotel then returned in time for his first appointment of the day.


End file.
